Of Occlumency and Outcomes
by Apple Muffins
Summary: What if Harry had managed to learn Occlumency? How much would it have affected? A certain meddlesome Know-It-All has come up with a plan and decides to become an intermediary between the ill-tempered Potions Master and the Boy-Who-Lived, whether they want it or not.
1. A Suspicious Declaration

**Author's note:** Just to let you know, **I've played with OotP's timeline a bit here and have the scene starting this story on February 25th, rather than Easter break like it is in the book.** In case anyone is interested, this will probably be a rather long story. Comments and constructive criticism are quite welcome, as are misspellings and typo corrections. Rated T for language and probable violence. Anything you recognize belongs to JKR, especially any sentences that are in italics. Those are lifted directly from OotP and upwards. I hope you enjoy it!

**Edit:** This chapter has been beta'd and made generally better by the wonderful Nargles394. Thank you so much for your help!

"Hey mate, it's almost six. You'd better get down to the dungeons or you'll be scrubbing half-melted cauldrons for a week."

Ron's whispered warning barely registered on the fringes of Hermione's consciousness. Her latest arithmancy essay (minimum length of two feet, one-and-a-half feet of parchment used thus far, one inch margins, assigned this morning, due next Wednesday) had captured her complete attention. Professor Vector had assigned a prompt regarding the usage of magi-mathematical probabilities in the creation of charms and potions, and it was the most fascinating thing they had learned yet in the term. With such a wealth of information at her fingertips and such an interesting prompt, there was no question as to whether or not she would need a third piece of parchment to finish the assignment.

"Harry? Hey, did you hear me? You're going to be late for your lessons with the Bat," Ron reached across the library table to nudge his friend's elbow.

"Er, well that's something I've meant to talk to you two about," Harry's eyes strayed to the frayed seams on his jumper sleeve, "I haven't got extra lessons with Snape anymore, he says I don't really need them now."

Hermione's quill froze over her inkwell and she stared at Harry, her Arithmancy essay now forgotten.

Stunned silence met Harry's muted declaration.

Then, simultaneous exclamations of "What?" from Ron and _"Why haven't you got Occlumency lessons anymore?"_ from Hermione shattered the stillness. Madame Pince cleared her throat and sent them a hawkish glare from down the row.

"Well, _Snape reckons that I can carry on by myself now that I've got the basics..." _he muttered, still avoiding their gazes.

"That's mental, you dreamed about You-Know-Who just last week. Screaming in the middle of the night about Death-eaters and that imperiused Bode bloke," Ron whispered back, his eyes narrow.

"Ron's right, Harry. I hate to say it, but Professor Snape must have made a mistake, you need to keep taking lessons," Hermione lowered her head in an attempt to catch his eye, but Harry continued the examination of his sleeve, _"I don't think Snape should stop until you're absolutely sure you can control them! Harry, I think you should go back to him and ask-"_

"Really, Hermione, it's fine. I've...I've got it under control, alright?" Harry seemed to cast about for something else to say before standing abruptly and jarring his knee on the library table. He grabbed his transfiguration book and shoved it into his bag, "I-I've left my Divination book up in the tower, see you guys in a bit."

Spying the misty blue cover of _Unfogging the Future_ peeking out from under a pile of Quidditch books that Ron had open, Hermione called after her friend's retreating back, "Oh, but Harry, Ron has his righ-" She stopped when she felt Ron's hand on her arm and saw him shake his head.

"Leave him be, 'Mione. I don't think it's his book he's after."

Trying to ignore the butterflies that bubbled up in her stomach at Ron's touch, Hermione stared for a moment at the library door as it swung shut, "Ron, did...did Harry just lie to us?"

"Well," he began with a bit of fluster, "Maybe not so much as lie as...as..." He deflated a little and sighed, "I don't know. It's not really any of our business, now is it?"

This attitude did not sit well with her at all.

"Ron, if he didn't finish his lessons with Professor Snape, who knows what Voldemort might do to Harry. It's of the highest importance! We...We have to make him see reason!" She finished with a resolute bang of her fist against the table and earned an irritated, "Shhhhh!" from the ever-vigilant Madam Pince.

"Aw, come on, 'Mione," came Ron's cajoling whisper, "For all we know, Snape really could have cut Harry loose from his lessons."

One glance at her mulish expression and he opted for compromise.

"Look," his voice dragged with resignation, "If he has any more dreams, we'll talk to him. Alright?"

She wanted to protest, to argue, to chase Harry down and demand some actual answers from him, but she couldn' t. Despite her concern and suspicions, Hermione knew it would be better to have more evidence on her side than one moment of shifty behaviour.

Letting out a strangled sigh, she scrubbed her fingers through her hair, "Alright, fine. But if there is even the slightest hint of him getting into Voldemort's head again, we're talking to him. Deal?"

"Deal," he agreed. Wasting no time, he returned to his Quidditch books, ignoring whatever actual homework he may have had.

Tried as she might to refocus on her Arithmancy essay, Hermione couldn't shake the unsettling feeling that had taken up lodging in the pit of her stomach. She hated to think it, but she was almost certain that Harry had been less than truthful about his lessons.

Perhaps this assignment wouldn't call for a third piece of parchment after all.

* * *

As icy winds howled around the castle's many spires, Hermione lay sleepless in bed replete with a purring Crookshanks curled on her stomach. She burrowed her hand through his warm fur and continued to ponder over what Harry had said (or rather, refused to say) in the library. No matter what way she looked at it, it was impossible to achieve such proficiency in Occlumency in less than one week. She was almost tempted to think that Harry had skived off the hated sessions if not for the fact that it would be nearly suicidal to cross Professor Snape in such a manner.

Professor Snape! She sat up at the thought, much to her cat's displeasure. There was a perfectly reasonable way to find out the truth without confronting her friend at all: ask the Professor. Ignoring the feline's disgruntled cries, she muttered a quiet _lumos_ and reached between her bed curtains, withdrawing a small muggle notebook and pen from her nightstand. In her experience, they were the most practical tools for late night spurts of inspiration. She began organizing her thoughts and worries on paper, composing something that resembled a loose outline to help her address Professor Snape. Hopefully, he would not need much convincing. After all, if he actually had dismissed Harry from his lessons, then all she had to do was explain that Harry had been having the dreams up until last week. Being an Order member himself, he would no doubt agree that a few more weeks of lessons would be wise, if only to make sure Harry was fine on his own. Besides, with a matter of such great importance, she was positive everyone could agree that safety was best option.

After looking over her outline with a small sense of satisfaction, she wiped the notebook's page clean with a concealment charm and replaced it in her nightstand drawer. Laying back down, she resolved to go see the Professor the next day during his office hours and ask him about Harry's lessons. Content that she had struck on the right course of action, and happy that she now _had _a course of action, she found it much easier to relax and drift off to sleep.

* * *

Hermione counted it as a stroke of luck that Harry's announcement came the night before their Thursday Potions class. This would be a perfect opportunity pay close attention to the Professor's mood and possible receptiveness to her inquiry. Though some students would claim there was no such thing as an actual "good mood" for Professor Snape, Hermione held the opinion that even someone as dour as he had to have occasional good days. No matter what reputation or unsavoury epithets he had gained from the student population over the years, he was still human.

At first, it seemed as though luck were on her side. So far they had been in class a full twenty minutes and Professor Snape had not once criticized or goaded she, Ron, or Harry. It was quite miraculous. Hermione wasn't sure if that had ever occurred, not in recent memory anyways.

Twenty minutes stretched into thirty, then forty, and Hermione realized that Professor Snape had not so much as looked in the direction of their table for the entirety of the class. Even more bizarre, Harry had not uttered a full sentence while brewing his Invigoration Draught, even Ron couldn't pry more than the occasional grunt or monosyllabic answer out of him. Although his silence was alarming and seemed to confirm the worst of her fears about his Occlumency lessons, a small, stubborn part of her was pleased to note that Harry's potion was the correct colour for once.

Despite her misgivings towards the current state of relations between her friend and the Potions Master, the remainder of the lesson continued in surprising peace. Hermione had just finished cleaning up her workspace at the end of the lesson when she saw Harry turning in his bottled potion at the front of the classroom. Hoping to save her friend a bit of effort, Hermione cast an Evanesco on the remaining dregs inside of Harry's cauldron and began putting away his leftover ingredients. Just then, there was a loud crash and the tinkling of glass followed the too-familiar cackle of Malfoy's laughter.

_"Whoops,"_she heard Professor Snape's voice sneer,_"Another zero then, Potter..."_

The colour drained from her face and her stomach sunk into the floor as she watched Harry stalk back towards their table to grab another vial of potion. The look of horror on his face upon discovering the empty cauldron was enough to make her insides twist into a complicated series of knots.

_"I'm sorry!"_She whispered, both hands flying up to cover her mouth,_"I'm really sorry, Harry, I thought you were finished, so I cleared up!"_

Harry didn't say a word. Instead, he sat on his stool, staring at the tabletop in angry silence, until the bell rang. He was up and out the door as fast as he could without running, and sat between Neville and Seamus at lunch. Hermione felt awful.

* * *

Hermione spent the rest of the day in anxious mental debate. Should she approach Professor Snape or keep her nose out of the matter entirely? She was so distracted by the thought that she almost did not silence her canary in Charms, barely picked at her dinner, and got her foot stuck in one of the Grand Staircase's trick steps, something she hadn't done since her first year at Hogwarts.

It was evident that the Professor and Harry were on worse terms than usual. Hermione was appalled to even consider it, since she didn't see it happen, but she was sure that Professor Snape had dropped Harry's potion on purpose. What was worse, however, was how Harry didn't fight the professor's misconduct or call it out to the class with his usual bravado. Instead, he seemed to be taking the Potion Master's ire willingly, as though it were a punishment for something he had done.

Did she want to get into the middle of a mess like that? She sighed at that thought. It wasn't a question of "Did she?" or "Would she?" but rather "How much worse would she make everything when she did?" With Harry's safety at stake, what were a few (or even several dozen) zeros in Potions compared to that? There had not yet been an "Educational Decree" condoning corporal punishment, so it stood to reason that Professor Snape could do no real harm without getting in trouble himself. She could probably expect a loss of House points, yes. Detentions handling or scrubbing a myriad of disgusting things? Most likely. A drop in her Potions grades at a critical time in her educational career? Maybe. But actual harm? No, she didn't think so.

Her mind now made up, she took to watching the mantel clock in the Gryffindor common room in between the final paragraphs for her Arithmancy essay, waiting for six o'clock to arrive. If this were any other night, the warmth rolling out from the hearth combined with the cozy armchair would bring drowsy comfort. Instead, the heat was stifling and anxiety climbed up the back of her throat. She wished she could talk to Ron about her impending meeting with the Professor Snape, but she didn't dare to do so. He would no doubt make her see reason and talk her out of it. A small snort escaped at that idea. Ron? Being the reasonable one? That was a new thought. That bit of absurd humor did a little to help uncoil the knot in her stomach, but she still gave a small jump at the sound of the clock chiming seven.

With a shaky sigh, Hermione put away her essay into her book bag and made her exit out the portrait door. Her footsteps echoed off the walls of the deserted corridors, sounding lonely and eerie in the vast silence. Even the ghosts weren't out tonight. The temperature plummeted in correlation with her descent into the lower parts of the castle, she swore it was so cold that she glimpsed the occasional puff of her breath floating in the air.

Much to her dismay, she found herself in front of the wooden, wrought iron door to the Potion Master's office much sooner than she would have thought possible. The moving staircases had been kind enough to bestow an almost direct path to the dungeon stairway. That would be her luck, wouldn't it? The stairways could give you the most convoluted path imaginable when you're running late to an astronomy lesson in the tallest tower of the castle, but if you're on your way to an unscheduled meeting with the school's most dreaded professor? Then the stairs would be more than happy to oblige you on your journey. Sometimes, it felt as though the castle possessed more sentience than most thought possible, and drew its only source merriment from playing with the students.

Gathering every shred of that over-vaunted Gryffindor courage she possessed, Hermione rapped her knuckles against the coarse wooden door. "Enter," drawled the Potions Professor's muffled voice. He sounded rather bored.

'Well, I'm sure that will change quite soon,' She thought to herself in grim humour before she pushed into his office.


	2. The Rather Impossible Idea

**Authors note**: Just a reminder that this story's timeline is accelerated from what is in the books, the last chapter began of Febuary 25th. Sorry there was a bit of a delay in getting this chapter out. It's due to a mix of it being much longer than the last chapter, working extra hours the last few weeks, and the fact that the darn thing is chock full of conversations. Apparently, they're the bane of my literary existence. However, I think that it came together alright in the end, it just took more work than I expected. Thank you to everyone who favorited or followed this story, I was overjoyed at seeing that there were people who enjoyed it. A special thank you to stiffstarkknees for a lovely conversation about the story and encouragement. On to chapter two!

It had been over three years ago since Hermione had ventured into Professor Snape's office, the first and last time having been when she nicked the ingredients for her Polyjuice Potion in second year. She didn't remember much from that little escapade, as she had been far more concerned with pilfering his storage cupboard than she was with a thorough inspection of the room. All she could recall from her race through the dim chamber were towering stone arches, vaulted ceilings filled with shadows, and shelves upon shelves of various pickled creatures. When she was stressed, whether about upcoming exams or whatever new spot of trouble the boys had managed to get themselves into, her more anxious dreams tended to return here. She wasn't quite sure why that was, maybe because there was such a sinister atmosphere about the place or because her adrenaline-fueled, mad dash into the office had cemented it in her mind as a location to be feared.

A cursory examination of her surroundings, however, showed it to to be a touch less less foreboding than her memories insisted. A fire flared in the hearth and strew about long shadows that clutched at the ceiling, but it also cast a warm, flickering glow over the place. It didn't do much for the temperature, as she was still thoroughly chilled through both her jumper and her school robes, but the added illumination revealed a few interesting details she had been too rushed to notice all those years ago.

There were more books than she remembered, which piqued her automatic interest. A rather comfortable-looking, black leather armchair sat by the fireplace, beside it an end table piled high with even more books and various bits of lab equipment. On the far wall of the room...Was that a window? How could there be a window this far underground? It was as a blurred shape swam by, its shadows undulating with the rippling moonlight, that she came to the awed realization that the window was a view of the depths of the lake.

"Do you plan on coming in, or are you going to continue gaping about like a hooked plimpy?" she heard Professor Snape inquire with unmistakable irritation. He was ensconced in a chair matching the one beside the fireplace, and sat behind a round, dark-stained wooden table. Homework scrolls covered its surface and he seemed to be focused in marking what looked to be a particularly poor essay, judging by the amount of red ink marring its surface. She was not surprised to find that there was no visitor's chair on the other side of the table. Hermione shut the heavy door with as little noise as possible, clasped her hands in front of her, and waited for him to finish critiquing his current paper.

"All marks are final," he spoke in a disinterested drone, still looking at the scroll in front of him. He had the air of one who had given this speech far too many times, "No amount of whinging, crying, pleading, needling, or protesting will get you a better grade. If you insist on the issue, I can guarantee it will lower whatever your current marks-," he stopped mid-sentence when he raised his head to look at the doorway. Whoever he was expecting to see in his office, she was certain it was not her.

"Miss Granger," he scrutinized her with a suspicious gaze, "To what do I owe the purpose of this visit?"

She cleared her throat, "P...Pardon the interruption, Professor, but I was hoping to ask you a question." It was encouraging that she sounded much calmer than she felt. She could do this, all she had to do was go through her mental outline item by item. Easy. It was just like approaching any other teacher.

"I see," was his only response as he continued his leery stare and scowled his displeasure. Alright, so it was not at all like approaching any other teacher.

Not wishing to wear thin whatever small amount of patience the Potions Master had for her, Hermione opted to speak directly, "I wanted to ask if you had really ended Harry's Occlumency lessons, sir." There was no notable twitch or deepening of his scowl, but at the sound of her friend's name, Professor Snape's cold gaze lit with anger. This did not bode well at all.

"The reason I ask, sir, is because he has had his dreams as recently as last week. I thought it would be important to make sure that you, as his teacher, were informed of this," the Professor's answering silence was daunting enough that she found it hard not to fidget with the edge of her jumper, "To be honest, I've done a small bit of reading on Occlumency-"

"Yes, I'm sure 'a bit of reading' makes you _quite_ the expert on the subject. Doesn't it, Miss Granger?" he sneered as he rose from his seat, eyes narrowed in obvious annoyance. He grabbed a thick stack of books off of the end table and began placing them with meticulous care into a narrow bookshelf by his desk.

"N-Not at all, sir," she stuttered in protest, "But I do know Harry, and I don't believe he has the temperament to use Occlumency to much effect without ongoing pract-"

"Miss Granger," he interrupted again without sparing her a glance, "You seem to be under the mistaken impression that I require a student's council on the subject of Mr. Potter's private, and supposedly secret, lessons. Allow me to alleviate your concerns: I can assure you that your vastly under-informed opinions are neither needed nor desired in this matter."

Hermione bit her cheek, forcing herself to ignore his barbs and the sudden indignant flush she felt about her ears. He could insult her all he liked, she would not let herself be distracted from her point, "I understand that my interest is unsolicited in this situation, sir, but I have great concern for Harry's safety. I'm afraid that instead of using his Occlumency at all, he will keep pressing his luck to find out what's behind the door in his dreams, or perhaps even what Voldemor-"

"Do not say that name!" he snapped at her, black eyes glinting with menace. Hermione jerked back a step in alarm and felt the wild urge to reach for her wand. Her reaction must have shaken his anger, as he turned back to the bookshelf for a pause before continuing in a calmer voice, "If Potter lacks the self-preservation to follow through on my teachings, then that is hardly my concern."

Inhaling a measured breath to calm and steel her nerves, Hermione chose the wording of her next question with care, "But, Professor, don't you agree it might be sensible to carry on with his lessons a while longer? Perhaps he just needs more time and instruction to understand how important this is."

"No, I most certainly do _not _agree. I can assure you that two months is more than enough time to grasp the gravity of the situation," he shoved the final book into its place with more force than she thought was strictly necessary and turned towards his desk, "Now, if you have no further concerns, Miss Granger, I would suggest you return to Gryffindor Tower."

Hermione knew a dismissal when she heard one, but refused to be deterred by his ire or his stubbornness. He was a teacher, spy, and Order member, for goodness sake! If anyone were to understand the full consequences of the dissolution of Harry's Occlumency studies, it should be him. Squaring her shoulders and gathering as much bravado as she could muster, she took a step further into the room, "With all due respect, sir, if the situation is so dire, isn't that all the more reason to continue with his lessons? Otherwise-"

"Enough!" he growled, "I refuse to explain myself to a child who knows next to nothing about the issue at hand." His jaw was set tight and there was a certain rigidity to his movements as he sorted through the papers on his desk, "Thirty points from Gryffindor for your impertinence and general obnoxiousness, Miss Granger. You may leave now, I trust you remember how to use a door." The tone of his voice was quite final.

Throwing caution and all sense of prudence to the wind, she attempted one final entreaty, "But, sir, if you could just-"

"Out!" he snarled as he rounded on her, his face contorted in livid fury. Before she could move or say anything, he had drawn his wand and aimed a slashing movement in her direction. Hermione heard the door behind her fling open, and with another swipe of his wand she was being pushed out of his office, her shoes slipping and losing traction on the smooth stone floor. The heel of her foot caught on the raised edge of the doorway, and she found herself falling backside-first into the hall. No sooner had she landed on the floor, than the the door slammed shut and she heard the lock click into place.

Hermione took a deep breath and let it out to the count of ten. Never once had she imagined that she would one day be physically thrown out of a teacher's office. Well...that could have gone better. She wasn't sure if it could have gone worse, but it certainly could have gone better.

She suspected she now knew how Neville felt during Potions lessons.

* * *

Against her better judgment, Hermione decided during their Friday Herbology lesson to tell Ron about her confrontation (she cringed at the word, but really, what else could she call it?) with Professor Snape the night before. She wasn't sure if she were looking for confirmation that she had at least attempted to do the right thing, or a partner to commiserate over the abject failure that her inquiry had turned out to be. Either way, his reaction to the news was less than reassuring.

"You did what?!" he was looking at her as though she had possibly sprouted a second head, "Hermione, have you gone mad?"

"Would you be quiet? Harry will hear us!"" she whispered, peering down the row, to where her other best friend sat with Neville. Thankfully, his poorly pruned Screechsnap looked to be in the midst of quite the screaming fit, distracting him from Ron's exclamation. She turned back towards him and attempted to explain, "It seemed like a logical plan at the time."

""Logical"?" he repeated in disbelief, "How did anything about that idea sound even half-way "logical"?"

She huffed and gave him a sidelong glance, "I felt it was a better choice than waiting for Harry to come around and tell us what happened himself. We can't afford to sit around and wait for him to feel better about the whole thing. So, I decided to go straight to the source."

"Right, how did that work out for you?"

She winced and gave him a guilty glance, "He threw me out of his office."

"I could've told you that would happen," Ron snorted.

"No, I mean he literally threw me out of his office, with magic. Well, maybe not throwing so much as shoving-"

"He what?" Ron set down his shears and stared at her for a moment, until his face cracked into a grin with a snort and a snigger. He covered his mouth in an effort to control himself, but it was no use. He soon he collapsed against the table into a heap of helpless, but thankfully muted, laughter.

"It's not funny! Why in the world are you laughing?" she could feel her cheeks heating up in a blush, which only seemed to make him laugh harder and louder.

"Quiet, Ron!" Hermione again looked over at Harry as she contemplated casting a silencing charm on the guffawing mess that was currently Ron. She was somewhat relieved to find that the situation with Harry's Screechsnap had continued to deteriorate, as he was far too preoccupied to notice what was going on over at their end of the table.

The poor plant was now making some truly horrible noises that were a mix of its namesake screech and a hiss, while whipping its tentacle-like stalks at him every time he came near it with the pruning shears. In fact, every so often the Screechsnap attempted to grab the tool right out of his hands. Instead of helping his partner, Neville was looking on in rapt fascination while jotting down the occasional note. To be fair, most of the students on the other side of the table were watching the battle unfolding before them, even Professor Sprout had stopped by to watch the scene with a look of amused perplexity on her face. Truthfully, Hermione didn't blame them, she wasn't aware that Screechsnaps could even do that.

Ron, meanwhile, looked to be getting over his laughing fit as he had started coughing for lack of air. Hermione pinned him with a pitiless and somewhat irritable stare, "Are you quite done?"

He wiped a tear from his eye and held up his hands, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It's just, out of the three of us to get chucked out of a teacher's office, I never thought you'd be the first!" he almost fell victim to another round of chortling, but managed to contain himself, "Merlin's pants! Just how did you manage to do that?"

"I..." she began, then gave a small shrug, "I don't know. It was going about how I expected it would, with him turning down every question I had and being irritable the whole time, sort of like he is in class. Only, he seemed to be even angrier than usual, it almost looked like he wasn't going to talk at all at the beginning, and then at the end he just seemed to...snap. I suppose my persistence may have exhausted his patience."

She then told him the full story of going to Professor Snape's office, from the knock on the door all the way to being knocked on the floor. Ron listened as he rushed to take care of his own plant, which had been neglected for the majority of the lesson thus far. She supposed he was more worried about Harry than he had let on the other day, as he didn't interrupt her even once.

As she finished recounting the events of the night before, he had a somewhat quizzical expression on his face with his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth in a frown, like he was thinking something over. Finally he asked, "So...do you reckon it is Harry's fault Snape ended his lessons?"

Hermione nodded, "You got that impression as well?"

"Yeah. With what he said and the way he snapped like that, it looks like Harry did do something to make the old tosser angry," he then let out a frustrated sigh, "You know, if he could've had anybody else teaching him Occlumancy, Harry'd probably still be taking lessons."

She nodded in glum agreement, "You're probably right. I don't know what Dumbledore was thinking, Professor Snape and Harry have never gotten along well."

He snorted, "That's putting it lightly, they've always hated each other; actually, I'm pretty sure Snape hates all three of us. If the git's not willing to let Harry back into lessons, then I guess there's not much we can do then, is there? At least you tried, Hermione," he said in a consolatory tone and began pulling off his dragon hide gloves.

It was as she was putting up her Herbology supplies a few minutes later and mulling over her discussion with Ron that she realized the full import of something he had said. _If Harry could have had anybody else teaching him Occlumency_...Oh...Oh! She had an idea. It was a half-formed, crazy, probably rather impossible idea, but an idea nonetheless. There might still be a way to get Harry to learn Occlumency: just have someone else teach it. Someone who could understand him and help translate, as it were, a subject to which he was ill-suited. Someone like...Well now, she didn't want to get ahead of herself here, did she? It would be best to ask Professor Dumbledore what he thought before she planned anything else.

As the bell for lunch rang, she hurried up to the back of the greenhouse where Professor Sprout was placing the Screechsnaps on a shelf, "Professor? May I ask you a question?"

"Certainly, Granger!" she began brushing the dirt from the front of her robes, "What is it you need, dear?"

"I have something I want to ask Professor Dumbledore. Do you know if he has any time free this afternoon or evening? I promise it's not anything silly or a waste of his time."

"Oh, I don't know..." the Herbology teacher sounded hesitant, "Are you sure it's not anything any of the other Professors could help you with?"

Hermione shook her head, "No, ma'am. This is something only the Headmaster would be able to answer." Technically, that wasn't true. However, she doubted she would be welcome in Professor Snape's office after last night's disastrous meeting, which made her current inkling of an idea seem all the more reckless.

Professor Sprout considered her for a minute, "Alright, if you're sure. You're a prefect and all, so I suppose there's no harm in it. I can ask him during lunch and let you know, is that alright?"

Hermione beamed, "Yes, very much so. Thank you professor!" Despite her smile and words of thanks, she felt a slight twisting in the pit of her stomach. Did she really want to do this? Could she really do this?

"Not at all, not at all. Now off you pop, before the Gryffindor table runs out of food."

* * *

Hermione was greeted with the savoury smells of warm roast beef sandwiches and French onion soup as she entered the Great Hall and was delighted to find that Ron had saved her a seat next to him at the crowded House table. As she approached the bench, she could hear the boys discussing Harry's disastrous Herbology lesson.

"So did Professor Sprout tell you what grade you were getting for today?" Dean Thomas asked.

Harry gave a sheepish grin, "She said I got a 'Dreadful'. I only didn't get a 'T' because the thing was somehow still alive by the end of class," he brightened slightly, "But I got five points for persistence, so I think it balances out some." He took a large bite his sandwich.

"Fair enough," Dean nodded in approval.

"Hello, Hermione," Harry greeted around a mouthful of roast beef. This was the first time he had spoken to her in the last twenty-four hours. Apparently she had been forgiven for losing him his grade in Potions yesterday. Normally, she'd be at least miffed at him for avoiding her over an accident. However, given the circumstances, she decided to let it go.

She smiled and returned his greeting before she sat down next to Ron. Acting on habit, Hermione grabbed a sandwich from the platter at the center of the table and ladled out a hearty portion of soup from the nearest tureen. It wasn't until she took her first bite that she realized with dismay that she had no appetite, despite how wonderful the meal smelled. That was no good, it wouldn't do to visit the Headmaster and feel cotton-headed due to an empty stomach. Leveling her shoulders, she told herself that she would eat at least half of the food on her plate, whether she wanted to or not, and tucked in.

It was a slow twenty minutes later, as she was struggling to down the few last bites of food at the now nearly empty table, when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned to find Professor Sprout handing her a small slip of parchment, "It seems you're in luck today, Granger. I assume you know what to do with this?"

Hermione glanced at the note and saw the words, "Four o'clock" and "Exploding Bonbons" written in the Headmaster's curling script. She had received a response much faster than she had anticipated. Thank goodness Ron had forgotten his Astronomy homework up in the tower and had already left with Harry, otherwise she had no doubt the two would be _very_ interested indeed as to why she was receiving a note from Professor Dumbledore.

"Yes, ma'am," she beamed, "Thank you."

"I hope you find an answer to your question, dear," Professor Sprout said with a pat on Hermione shoulder.

It was as the Professor was turning to leave that Hermione felt a peculiar, creeping sensation on the back of her neck, as if someone were watching her. She snapped her eyes towards the direction of the High Table and thought she caught Professor Snape subtly shifting away his gaze. She couldn't be sure if he had been watching her or not, it happened so quickly. She was almost ready to chalk the sensation up to paranoia until she looked further down the table and saw Professor Umbridge, eyes bulging, staring at her with a look of intermingled suspicion and glee. Avoiding the toady witch's gaze, Hermione returned to her plate, only to find she could no longer force herself to eat.

* * *

Hermione was almost doubled over by the gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster's office at three fifty-eight that afternoon, panting hard and trying to catch her breath as she had run from the seventh floor Arithmancy classroom in order to get there on time. She fished the slip of paper Professor Sprout had given her out of her jumper pocket and said with a slight wheeze, "Exploding Bonbons". The statue jumped aside and the stairs behind it began spiraling upwards, for which she was grateful. Her Friday afternoon classes had far too much stair-climbing for her liking.

As Hermione ascended higher up the tower, she was struck by what she considered to be a rather odd thought: she wasn't nervous. Well, that wasn't quite true, she was nervous about what would follow should the headmaster approve of her scheme, whether it would be successful or turn out a miserable failure and so on. But as for initiating a meeting with Professor Dumbledore, arguably the most powerful wizard in the world and former Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, she was quite calm, confident even. This was mainly because she was certain there could be nothing worse than last night's debacle with Professor Snape, and even more certain that the headmaster would not boot her from his office, despite what he thought of her opinion.

When she reached the top of the stairs, Hermione saw a large, gleaming oak door adorned with a handsome brass knocker in the shape of a griffin, and she couldn't help but wonder what former Headmasters of other Houses had felt about having a "Griffin Door" to their office. The again, maybe the castle changed the adornment depending on the House of the Headmaster? If her suspicions about the castle's sentience were correct, then it was a possibility. She jumped when the door suddenly cracked opened to reveal Dumbledore's smiling, but rather wan face. He still looked remarkably spry and hale for a wizard over one hundred years of age, but it seemed the prospect of the upcoming war and the current battle of wills with the Ministry were taking its toll on him nevertheless.

"Ah, Ms. Granger," he said as he pushed the door open further, "Come in, come in. Would you like some tea, or a sherbet lemon perhaps?"

"No, thank you, sir," she said as she looked about the room, curious as to what the office of the lauded but eccentric wizard would look like. She had heard Harry's descriptions of the office before, but he hardly did it justice. The whole chamber had a warm, cheery air about it and smelled like the the sweet scent of old parchment. Books looked to be bursting from their shelves and dozens of slumbering portraits of Headmasters past decorated almost every inch of the walls. There were whirring, ticking instruments of unknown function on practically every horizontal surface which made her fingers itch with the desire to investigate. Dumbledore's magnificent pet phoenix was in full plumage today and preening itself on it's perch, whistling out soft warbling notes that sounded more beautiful than most symphonies she had heard. In short, she thought it was marvelous.

The Headmaster conjured a cozy mauve armchair in front of his desk and indicated she should sit down before settling himself in a seat so regal it resembled a medieval throne. "Now, Ms. Granger," he said with a small smile, "Professor Sprout said you had a question for me that could be answered by absolutely no other staff member, which I find both rather flattering and astonishing. Tell me, dear girl, what is you wish to know that is so singular? I am quite curious."

Hermione folded her hands in her lap, straightened up in her chair (which was a bit difficult due to the plush cushions), and leaned towards Professor Dumbledore, hoping to convey just how important she felt the topic was, "I wanted to talk to you about the lessons Harry was taking from Professor Snape, sir."

A look of sadness and disappointment cast over his features, "Ah, yes, that turned out to be quite the fiasco, didn't it? I've tried persuading him otherwise, but Professor Snape is quite adamant they shall not continue. I take it Harry has not told you much on the subject?"

She shook her head, Professor Dumbledore had already told her more in those two sentences than Harry had over the past two days, "No, sir. He was rather reluctant to talk about it."

The Headmaster seemed pleased at that pronouncement, "I imagine he would, as it is not his story to tell. Nor is it mine, but that is not reason for your visit, is it Miss Granger?" Professor Dumbledore's blue eyes seemed to shine with anticipation, and Hermione had the suspicion that he knew exactly why she was there.

"You are correct, Professor, it's not. I actually have a small proposition to make."

His bushy eyebrows raised in interest, "Oh? What would that be, my dear?"

"You see, sir, I had a thought earlier today on how Harry may continue learning Occlumency without ever having to meet with Professor Snape."

"Really now?" he stroked his beard as he considered her statement, "How would that work, Miss Granger?"

"Well, sir, what sparked the idea was the thought that if anybody else had been teaching Harry, he would still be in his lessons. Not that I think Professor Snape is incapable of teaching Occlumency, quite the contrary," Hermione hoped she hadn't just offended the Headmaster with his choice of staff members, "It's just that two them get on about as well as Crups and Kneazles, I'm astounded they even lasted two months, to tell the truth."

"As am I, my dear," he gave her a conspiratorial smile, "I thought for sure I would have to intervene with some incident or another within the first week."

"Really?" she blinked at him, stunned that the Headmaster had been aware of the extensive hostilities between Harry and Professor Snape.

"Indeed, but please do continue."

"Well, I was wondering if it would be at all possible for someone else to teach Harry. I don't mean a teacher, of course. I'm sure if there had been any other teacher available, you would have already sent Harry their way. But what if it were a student tutor, someone who could learn Occlumency from Professor Snape and then explain the techniques to Harry in a way he can understand?"

Professor Dumbledore mused over her proposal a second and answered, "An intriguing idea, to be sure. However, it would require a very particular type of student," he then looked at her over the rims of his half-moon spectacles with raised eyebrows, "Wouldn't it, Miss Granger?"

"Yes, sir, I believe it would," it seemed he was drawing the same conclusion she had earlier in the greenhouse.

"Tell me, what would would be the necessary requirements for such an intermediary?" Professor Dumbledore leaned forward to steeple his fingers atop his desk.

Hermione had to think on his question for a moment before answering, "I suppose first and foremost, the tutor would need to be someone who supports Harry and his stance on Voldemort's return. Then they would need to be able to learn both Occlumency and Legilimency in a relatively short time in order to be effective. That means the tutor would have to be someone capable of wrapping their heads around the abstract concepts of theoretical magic, and would also need the, er...patience and respect to work with Professor Snape for an extended period of time. Not to mention they would need exceptional organizational and time-management skills so it did not interrupt their own studies. It would also be beneficial if they knew Harry well and how he learns best."

"You are quite right, quite right indeed," he again pinned her with that piercing look of his, making her insides feel as though it were full of moths in frantic search for an exit, "How extraordinary it is that this description bears a remarkable resemblance to your specific capabilities."

She glanced at the floor, "Yes, that thought had occurred to me as well," she looked back up at him and met his gaze, "If you think I am the best candidate, then I will do whatever I can to help Harry."

"I do indeed believe you would be the best suited to fulfill the role, if we were to follow through on this proposition of yours. So then, I suppose that leaves me one final question to ask you, my dear," Professor Dumbledore folded his hands on top of the desk and gave her studious regard, "This is, after all, the year of your OWLS, and I know how serious you are about your studies. I have no doubt you will pass every test, but you may not earn the same number of 'O's as you would if you had devoted as much of your free time to revising. Is this a consequence you would be willing to accept?"

Hermione swallowed a small lump in her throat, but raised her chin. She had come a long way from the little girl who thought there could be no worse fate than failing marks and expulsion, "If it means making sure Harry is safe from a madman bent on conquering Wizarding Britain, then I don't suppose there could be anything as important."

The Headmaster smiled, "Very well said, dear girl. As time is of the essence, I will consider your proposition and let you know my decision tomorrow."

"Thank you very much sir," she said and sank back into the downy armchair, "I appreciate you taking the time to hear me out."

"Of course, my dear, of course," he grabbed a brightly-wrapped candy from a dish on his desk and popped it into his mouth, seeming to ponder over something, "Have you told Harry anything about this plan of yours?"

She shook her head, "No sir, I didn't even tell him I was meeting with you today. I thought it best not to say anything until I heard your opinion on the subject"

"Excellent, excellent. If you could continue on that path a while longer, it would be most helpful. I'll explain more tomorrow, if need be," Professor Dumbledore rose from his seat and began making his way towards the door, "Now, I do believe it's nearly time for supper. I'm quite excited as we're having roasted potatoes tonight; I don't know what the house elves do to them, but they are simply scrumptious."

She likewise pushed herself out of her armchair, but froze when was struck by a sudden thought, "Er, Professor? There's something rather important I neglected to mention."

He gave her a curious look as he was reaching for the door handle, "What would that be, dear girl?"

She cringed, "Before coming to you about my concerns, I first went to Professor Snape last night to inquire about the end of Harry's lessons. I think I may have- No, I know I made him angry, and annoyed him a good deal as well. When you discuss this with him, would you please tell him that I would strive to be be a model student in his lessons?"

The Headmaster chuckled, "Of that I have no doubt, my dear. I wouldn't fret about it, but I will relay your message to Professor Snape regardless."

She smiled in relief, "Thank you again, Professor Dumbledore. You have no idea how reassuring this whole conversation has been."

"And thank you for coming forward with this little proposal of yours, it may prove to be very helpful indeed," he opened the door for her, "Good evening, Miss Granger."

"Good evening Professor," she said before stepping into the tower stairway, feeling lighter than she had in days.

* * *

As soon as he had closed the door behind Miss Granger, Albus Dumbledore's face turned from smiling to pensive as he thought over the numerous possibilities the girl's plan could incur. It was an intriguing idea to say the least, but what would Severus have to say about it? He crossed over to the ornate fireplace and threw in a dash of floo powder.

"Severus Snape's office," he spoke into the emerald flames. He heard the faint pop of the two hearths connecting and called out, "Severus, are you there?"

"I am, Headmaster," the Potions Master drawled in response, "What is so incredibly important that you could not wait less than ten minutes to talk to me in the Great Hall?"

Dumbledore smiled a bit at Severus' irritated tone. There were few things he found quite as entertaining as riling the dour professor, sadly now was not the time to take that opportunity, "I wanted to schedule a meeting with you after dinner, and did not wish to pique the interest of our illustrious High Inquisitor."

"Oh? I can't imagine why not, she's such a lovely and gregarious woman," Snape replied before inquiring, "What is it that is in need of such discretion?"

"I've just had rather illuminating chat with a student. I think you would find the subject quite interesting, considering it concerns you."

There was a long moment of silence before Severus answered, "Granger."

Dumbledore did not like the sound of his tone at all, as it was one that the Potions Master normally reserved for Harry, James, or Sirius. He regretted that he had not asked Miss Granger just what had happened the previous night, as Severus was far more rankled than he had expected.

Feigning ignorance, Albus responded in a bright voice, "Indeed, indeed. We have much to discuss, Severus, since your week's reprieve from Occlumency lessons is nearly over. I will see you at seven o'clock. If you're spotted by dear Dolores, do try to give her the slip."

"Of course, Headmaster," Snape replied. There was a pop and a rush of air as the other man abruptly cut off the floo connection.

Oh, dear. With his Potions Professor in that kind of mood, it seemed that the conversation after dinner was going to be far more interesting than Dumbledore had first thought.


	3. Requests, Orders, and Concerns

**Author's Note**: I so SO sorry that this chapter took so long. The first half flowed so nice and smooth, I wrote it pretty quickly (at least, quick for me). Then I hit that last conversation and I just couldn't get it right! I rewrote it from scratch six times and was never satisfied. It's still not where I would like it to be, but it's acceptable. I'll probably re-edit it later. Who am I kidding, I know I'll re-edit it later. The good news is that chapter four is already more than halfway written and fully outlined, so it should be uploaded MUCH sooner than this one. Any feedback and constructive criticism is appreciated as well as any Brit-picking. Again, I am so sorry for the massive delay, it's the curse of being a perfectionist.

'That interfering, tattling little swot!' Severus fumed to himself for what must have been the hundredth time in the past hour. Naturally the Granger girl would complain to Albus about being ousted from his office; given his luck, the annoying chit would have a twisted ankle with punctured ego to match. Well it served her right, he'd given her plenty of chances to leave on her own. Of course, this was an expected chastisement. He had overheard Pomona asking if the girl could schedule a meeting with Dumbledore, and he therefore drew the most logical conclusion. Although, he did find Granger's immediate escalation of the situation somewhat surprising. He had thought it far more probable for her to complain to her Head of House before going to the Headmaster. You would think by now he would have learned to stop underestimating Gryffindor histrionics.

"Exploding bonbons," he spat at the gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's tower. It glared in reproach out of the corner of its eye before moving aside at a slightly more grudging pace than usual. On his way up the revolving stairway, he wondered if he were going to receive something more damaging than the normal wrist slap to his professional record this time. It was likely, considering he had offended one of Albus' precious pet Gryffindors. Not that he particularly cared about the state of his teaching record. After all, his was in all likelihood to be his final place of employment anyways, perhaps he should enjoy tossing more children out of his office while he was alive to do so. As he neared the top of the stairs, he took a slow breath and began the process of tamping down his anger. A short, perfunctory knock was all the warning he gave before entering the Headmaster's office.

"Ah, Severus! You're right on time!" Dumbledore exclaimed in a cheerful tone, which Severus found most peculiar given the current circumstances, "Do come in, would you like some tea or a sherbet lemon?"

Snape regarded his host with a wary eye before settling himself in the most ghastly purple armchair he had ever had the misfortune of seeing, "Tell me, Albus, when was the last time I accepted one of those abominable muggle candies?"

"Never. But there is always the hope that you will one day change your mind," the older man said as he poured steaming liquid into a couple of floral-print cups with a swish of his wand.

"I don't recall saying I wanted tea," he intoned with a raised eyebrow.

"But you didn't say that you didn't want it either, Severus," Dumbledore smiled as he pushed the saucer across the desk, "At least try it, Madam Puddifoot has quite outdone herself on this one. Go on, I even left yours unsweetened for you."

Severus did not at all trust the Headmaster's chipper mood. Albus, though prone to his myriad of eccentricities, only busted out the special tea and full grandfather persona when he was after something. If he was vying for an apology to the Granger girl, he could forget it. Then again, maybe what he really wanted was a more forgiving attitude towards Potter when he inevitably ordered Severus to resume those blasted lessons. Well, he could Obliviate that notion from his dotty little skull. Either way, the jovial tone of the evening thus far could only count as an ill omen.

Taking a hesitant sip, Snape was surprised to find that the tea tasted palatable, much better than that awful raspberry-hibiscus concoction he'd had foisted upon him the last time the Headmaster tried this tactic. The brew of mint and orange was still too light for his tastes, but what else did he expect from Albus? He reached inside his robes and withdrew a vial of a transparent, pale yellow liquid. A single droplet of the substance was all he added before stirring.

"I'm glad to see that this one meets your approval," Dumbledore said as he shoveled a fourth spoonful of sugar into his own cup; he looked to be quite pleased with himself.

Severus sipped his drink in silence, refusing to satisfy the old man with a positive answer.

"By the by, how were your classes today, Severus?" the Headmaster's familiar, breezy tone pricked at his ears and set him on edge in an instant, it was about time that they got to the point of this meeting.

"They were fine," he answered with practiced nonchalance, inhaling the minty steam from his tea as he braced for the impending interrogation.

"Good, good. What about your office hours this week?" The Headmaster inquired as he poured a liberal amount of cream into his teacup; he must have charmed the thing to be larger on the inside, as it impossibly had yet to overflow.

"They were fine as well."

"Is that so? Miss Granger didn't seem to think so," Albus looked at him over the rims of his glasses, eyes twinkling infuriatingly.

"Oh? And what did she say?" He asked with a perfect imitation of surprise as he prepared to hear a report of Granger's injury and outrage.

"Not much in particular, simply that she had angered and annoyed you."

What? Severus' only reaction to that surprising information was two quick blinks covered by a long swig from his cup. That was it? No woeful tale of sprained ankles or broken digits? Then what the bloody hell was he there for? There had to be more to the conversation than that, "What reason, then, did you have for raising the issue of Miss Granger?"

"I'm trying to gauge how much lower the Hourglasses are going to be if I follow through on her suggestion. You've done quite a number on them this last week, I think even Mr. Filch is impressed. I know that you're angry with Harry, but there's no need to take it out on all the other Houses," Dumbledore sipped his tea with a slight, teasing grin, "Really, it would be nice to be able to award this year's House Cup without calculating who has the score that is the least in the negative."

Ignoring the Headmaster's small jab at his temper, Severus inquired with no small amount of suspicion, "What was it, exactly, that Miss Granger suggested?"

"Ah, yes. That." Albus replaced his teacup on its saucer and poured himself another cup-full, "Though, before we breach that topic, I suppose I should first ask if you've come up with an alternate solution to teaching Harry Occlumency, as your week is almost at its end."

"I still have two days left before your deadline," he answered in a clipped tone, returning his empty teacup to its saucer.

"Hmm, I had thought not," Dumbledore had a look of irritating satisfaction as he drowned his drink with sugar, "Well, it might interest you to know that Miss Granger has come up with a plan of sorts regarding your situation. I'm reluctant to involve another person in the matter, especially a student, but it may be the very thing we need."

"I find that rather hard to believe," Snape scoffed, "Is she planning to boss Potter into learning Occlumency? Or perhaps make him read as many books on the subject as possible? I wish the best of luck to her."

"Oh no, nothing of the sort. It's a far more practical and involved approach to the situation," Albus explained, "She's put forth a rather interesting proposition, although it will entail a considerable amount of work and secrecy on her part. However, I think she may be up for the task. Merlin knows no other student could achieve what she has suggested."

"Is that so?" Severus leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, "And just what has the prodigious little chit come up with this time?"

"Now, now, Severus. Don't deride the girl before hearing her idea, it does have merit. Her suggestion, simply put, is that she volunteer as an intermediary between you and Harry, since you and Miss Granger are far less inclined to tear each other to pieces at any given moment. You teach her Occlumency and a bit of Legilimency, and she will then teach Harry what she has learned in your lessons. A type of student tutor is how she phrased it."

"You are proposing that I instruct Granger in both Occlumency and Legilimency within a short enough time to foil the Dark Lord's plans?" he asked with rising incredulity. Perhaps the old man was more daft than Severus had ever given him credit for, "It's impossible, absolutely impossible. You know there is no way the girl could do it. This is almost a worse strategy than the sham of those lessons with Potter. I thought you would have more sense than to espouse a scheme so ridiculous and irresponsible."

"Oh, come now, it is neither."

"It is both, and you are well aware of it. This proposal of hers wastes valuable amounts of time that we cannot afford. March is two days away and Potter is no closer to either closing off his mind to invasion or regarding his dreams with any amount of caution. Not to mention that I question whether the girl could handle the mental strain of learning both subjects at once in such a short period of time. The only outcome for such a plan, if you can even call it that, is a cracked Granger, a dead Potter, and a victorious Dark Lord. Then where would we be?" He answered himself in mock elucidation, "Oh, yes: dead. We would both be dead, probably several times over in the most painful ways imaginable."

"You are exaggerating, Severus," Albus admonished with a dismissive wave of his hand, "I have every faith in Miss Granger, she is a capable young witch and and quite precocious, in the best sense of the word. You just called her prodigious no less than three minutes ago."

"Only in the most sarcastic manner possible. Obtuseness does not become you, Albus."

"Ah," Dumbledore intoned, "But it was sarcasm wrapped around a kernel of truth: the girl is uncommonly gifted, even you can't deny that. It's not every generation that we receive a student capable of brewing NEWT level potions in her second year."

"It is also not every generation that we receive a first year willing to light a teacher on fire," Severus reminded him.

"Still bitter about that, are you?" Dumbledore grinned.

Snape ignored him, banter was not on his itinerary for tonight, "She is a teenage girl, Albus, and a Gryffindor no less. She radiates her feelings to the world around her and has shown countless incidents of rash behaviour that is the hallmark of her House. She lacks the emotional control necessary for a task such as this."

"Many would say the same of you, but that never stopped you from taking to it like a fish to water. You also seem to be forgetting that I, myself, am a Gryffindor and have mastered both Occlumency and Legilimency with relative ease."

Severus leveled a withering glare at his host, "You are Albus-bloody-Dumbledore, you have mastered every subject with relative ease. You also happen to be just as cunning as the Dark Lord himself, only you prefer to hide it under countless layers of whimsy and nonsense."

"Hmmm, well perhaps you will find that Miss Granger is also more Slytherin than what meets the eye. She certainly has the brains for it. By the by, she wanted me to inform you that she would "Strive to be a model student in your lessons" should we take her up on her offer."

"Of that I have no doubt," he pinched the bridge of his nose, no longer making a pretense to hide the disdain colouring his voice.

"How uncanny, those are the exact words I used! Though the tone was different- less derisive, you see."

"The coincidence is astounding," the Potions Master's patience was wearing thin, "Model student or not, I am still unconvinced that she can perform her proposed duty with much success."

"Perhaps a lesson or two with Miss Granger will persuade you otherwise. The girl is determined to do whatever she can to secure Harry's safety from Voldemort," the Headmaster ignored the way the younger man's hands clutched his armrest at the sound of the hated name, "You know better than most that fear for a loved one is a powerful motivator, it can bring us strength that we otherwise would never have possessed."

"I hardly think that the two situations are comparable," Severus kept his voice level and his face neutral as he bit his tongue, resisting the urge to strangle the old man with his own beard. There had been no reason to trespass on that particular memory.

"To my eyes, they are more alike than you might think. Regardless, there is only one other option available to you at the moment, and that is to continue teaching Harry as you have been, which I do believe is an undesirable outcome for every party involved. If you can conceive of some other way to protect the boy from the invasion of his mind within the month, I will be glad to hear you out. For the time being, I request that you take Miss Granger as your pupil and make quick work of her."

Severus regarded Albus with an impassive gaze, "By using the term 'request' I assume that you meant 'order'."

Dumbledore smiled in sympathy, "I'm afraid you have very little choice in the matter."

Of course not. That was the nature of their arrangement, after all.

"Very well then, I see no reason to further this discussion," Severus rose from his chair and strode towards the door without a glance behind him, "As my opinion is of no consequence, you may arrange the details of my first meeting with Miss Granger to _your_ satisfaction. Good evening, Headmaster."

"Sever-" was all that he heard before he shut the door behind him.

* * *

Hermione tapped her finger in quiet time against the edge of the bench, measuring the number of seconds since her last surreptitious glance at the High Table. Her curiosity was overwhelming, what was Professor Snape's reception to her tutoring proposition? Was he persuaded? Did he decline the offer? Or worse, did he think it foolish? It was a feat of mental fortitude to sneak only the occasional peek at the Potion Master's countenance. From what glimpses she managed to gather, he did not look pleased. At least, less so than usual.

"Hermione...What are you up to?" Harry inquired from across the table.

"Up to?" She repeated, startled out of her reverie, "Why would you think I'm up to something?"

"Because you have that look."

"What look?" She asked with cocked head and wide eyes, trying her best to feign innocence.

This, unfortunately, had quite the opposite effect on Harry as he eyed her with further suspicion, "The look you get when you're up to something."

She turned to Ron, hoping he had been more interested in his breakfast than her conduct, "Ronald, please explain. What on earth is he talking about?"

Unfortunately for her, he wore an equally apprehensive expression, a whole rasher of bacon sitting abandoned on his plate, "Exactly what he said, you have the look. What are you planning?"

"I'm not planning anything!" she huffed. If the boys had noticed her behaviour, then had the Professor? Curiosity gaining the better of her, she took one final glance up at the High Table. The Potion Master's black gaze bored into hers, looking simultaneously irritated and unimpressed. She winced as she flicked her eyes back to the table and felt her face bursting crimson.

"'Not planning anything', eh? Then why are you blushing? And what's this all about?" Ron tapped his finger on the table before nervously glancing about, then gazed at the tabletop in an approximation of profound pondering. He looked back up to Harry, "Was that about right?"

Harry gave a slow nod, "Just about."

They both turned back with sceptic expectancy, "I'm...I'm looking for the owl post so I can read the Prophet, it's a bit late this morning."

Harry and Ron exchanged dubious looks.

"You hate the Daily Prophet," Harry reminded her, "What was it you called it last week? 'A useless rag brimming with nothing but fiction and propaganda'?"

She did her best imitation of an indignant sniff, "Despite being absolute rubbish, it's still the standard news source of Wizarding Britain. I think it's good idea to know what influence it might have on the rest of the student body."

The boys still looked unconvinced, but were interrupted before further interrogation could occur by the sound of Professor McGonagall's Scottish burr, "Good morning Mister Potter, Mister Weasley. Miss Granger, are you finished with your breakfast?"

"Yes, ma'am, I am," she responded, thankful for the Professor's timely appearance.

"Excellent, I must ask you to leave a tad early this morning. I was told that you have an appointment to keep as soon as possible."

"Of course, Professor," she turned to Harry and Ron with a wan smile, "I'll see you two later in the Common Room, don't forget to grab the paper for me."

Not waiting for a response, Hermione scurried out of the Great Hall. As she made her gallant retreat, she heard Harry say, "I knew she was hiding something."

"I haven't seen her act that squirrelly since she was trying to keep her time-turner a secret," Ron agreed.

* * *

The Headmaster's voice met her knock on the door, "Come in, Miss Granger, we have much to discuss!"

Hermione pushed into the office. The morning sun streamed in through tall windows, illuminating dust motes as they floated through the air with lazy grace. Professor Dumbledore stood behind his desk, directing several books into one of his many bookshelves with a few quick motions of his wand. Only one chair sat in front of the Headmaster's desk, a sensible wood and red velvet seat rather than the squashy armchair from yesterday. The Potions Master was nowhere to be seen.

"Will Professor Snape be joining us?" She asked as she settled into chair, despite the current physical evidence to the contrary. Of course there was no way Professor Snape would have agreed to this after Thursday night. What had she been thinking?

"No, my dear, I'm afraid he has other things to attend to this morning," Professor Dumbledore answered as he took his own seat, "Although he did voice some...concerns that I would like to address with you."

"Concerns?" she asked in mild confusion, "Do you mean he consented to teaching me? I thought-"

"That Professor Snape's absence meant that your plan was rejected?" he chuckled, "No, my dear, he is currently taking monthly inventory with Madam Pomfrey."

A strange mixture of relief and anxiety coursed through her at that news, leaving her limbs limp and her core wound tight. Given the Headmaster's hesitant tone, the Professor's objections probably ran deeper than a few minor concerns, "Thank goodness, I thought for sure that he would have refused. What was it about the plan that he found problematic?"

Professor Dumbledore gave her a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes and folded his hands atop his desk, "Nothing that we can't work around as long as we're smart and plan ahead. His main criticism was that we are limited on time. Using you as a proxy, if you will, to Mr Potter will only lengthen the process. Now, there are two ways that we can go about solving this. The first solution is that you partake in a greater quantity of lessons each week lasting about an hour each. The second option, which professor Snape would most likely prefer as it is easier to plan around, is that you have a smaller number of lessons each week but the time for each is extended to an hour and a half."

"I could do both," she leaned forward in her chair, "If we're aiming for quicker results, wouldn't that be the best course of action?"

"I can see why you would think that, and we may adopt a similar plan after your first month, but that would be far too much for you to begin with. Which brings me to the second concern he voiced," The Headmaster considered her for a moment, lips pursed thin, "There is a small amount of personal risk involved in your proposal."

"I know," she replied with a calm smile. Hermione had wondered if this aspect of her prospective training would be discussed, though she never would have thought it would be Professor Snape that raised the point.

"Then you are already aware of the potential repercussions of mental magic?" Professor Dumbledore asked with raised eyebrows.

"'When one partakes in calisthenics, the muscles in your body ache and, if overused, are prone to injury. The same is true of the mind,'" she quoted, '"However, the consequences of such overuse are more troublesome and sometimes permanent in nature.'"

"Ah, _Magister Mentium_ by Alexandria Darrow? An excellent introduction to this subject. I'm glad you are putting the more obscure parts of our library to good use."

"Yes sir, I read it after Professor Lockhart's...accident at the end of second year, I gave it a more thorough reading after Harry told me about his lessons with Professor Snape. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe temporary disorientation and memory loss are the worst of what we can expect if I push myself too hard in this circumstance. Permanent impairment only occurs in the most extreme of cases. Professor Snape does have a point: time is running out. So I would like to take three lessons lasting an hour and a half each week."

Professor Dumbledore considered her over steepled fingers, "As long as you are aware of the risk, I will consent. However, I want you to alert Professor Snape immediately if you experience any symptoms of overexertion."

She nodded, "Thank you, sir. I will."

"Then I suppose that leaves us with only one more topic of discussion. You recall me asking you to keep the prospect of these lessons a secret from Harry, yes?"

She nodded, hoping that he hadn't seen her poor attempt at deflecting suspicion in the Great Hall, "Does it have something to do with Professor Snape spying for the Order?"

"Quite. Professor Snape is a valuable asset to our organization, but Voldemort considers him just the same for himself as both a spy and as a saboteur. Right now, Voldemort is under the impression that the Professor has succeeded in his mission of ending Harry's Occlumency lessons. He believes that there is nothing to prevent him from entering Harry's mind any time he so chooses and is rather pleased with Professor Snape. I would like to keep it that way, hence the secrecy."

Hermione's breath caught in her throat as she worked out the full implication of that statement. That would mean..._Oh no_.

"So, you're saying that Voldemort could possibly know anything that Harry knows? And sees what he sees?" For once in her life, Hermione hoped she was coming to the wrong conclusion.

"Indeed. Which is why Harry's lessons were less instructional and more...practical in nature. We didn't want it to seem that Professor Snape was trying especially hard to teach him."

This was not good news. Granted, she had suspected something similar from from Harry's dreams and Dumbledore's reticence to be anywhere near her friend. But hearing her worst fears confirmed, and to a further extent than she had dared to ponder, was still a shock.

Hermione let all this soak in for only a moment before an immediate problem with this tactic became apparent, "How am I to meet Professor Snape for my lessons if we are trying to maintain secrecy? I can hardly be seen strolling down to the dungeons three times a week, even Malfoy wouldn't believe that I have remedial Potions lessons."

"Exactly right, my dear," a self-satisfied smile lit his face, "Instead of extra lessons, you will say that you have acquired an unused classroom. Your OWLs are coming up and the Common Room is much too loud and the library far too crowded for proper focus. So, you have asked to use the vacant classroom across from the fifth floor music room on a regular basis for your studying. No doubt that should deter your friends' curiosity."

Well, that was a believable excuse if she had ever heard one, "And how am I to reach Professor Snape's office from there?"

Professor Dumbledore lifted a dramatic finger, his eyes twinkling, "There is an old tapestry inside of this room. Simply tap it with your wand, say the word 'Wormwood' and it will open a passageway that leads straight to the Potion Master's office. No one but you, myself, and Professor Snape will know about it as I created it just last night. As for where you obtained your newfound knowledge on mental magic, you will reveal that I have lent you several books on the subject in hopes that you would have better luck than Professor Snape."

"Professor," Hermione began as a thought tugged at the back of her mind. It would be a small betrayal to Harry, but it had to be said. Guilt welled up in her throat at the breach of trust she was about to commit, "There's this map that Harry has, it shows all of Hogwarts and the locations of anyone on the grounds. What if he happens to find me in Professor Snape's office?"

"Oho, is that so? That answers a few questions I've had the last few years...I could do with one of those for myself…Quite handy indeed...What to do, what to do..." he tapped his fingers atop his desk as he mused to himself, "That map probably takes advantage of the Masking Spell that makes Hogwarts Unplottable. A loophole, essentially. Perhaps I could use another Masking Spell inside the castle on those particular rooms. Better yet, on the surrounding hallways as well. It wouldn't be amiss to do the same for all teacher offices for student confidentiality...And perhaps a warning spell should someone approach either chamber...Yes, that should do it."

His eyes returned to her, "Thank you, Miss Granger. I appreciate your honesty and that you are taking this situation so seriously. It must have been a tough decision to share this information. Do you have any other concerns for me?"

She racked her brain but no further questions came to her mind, save one, "When is my first lesson?"

"Why, tomorrow night, of course."


	4. First Lesson

**Author's Note:** You know, I really need to stop giving time estimates on these things. My writing flow comes and goes as it pleases and there's very little that can happen in between visits. Rest assured, I have every intention of continuing this story because I've had the idea of it stuck in my head for nearly ten years. I don't know when the next chapter will be ready, but it WILL be posted sooner or later. Until then, I hope you enjoy chapter four!

**ALSO:** I'm looking for a beta right now. If you are interested, shoot me a PM and we'll see if we can work something out.

"Oy, 'Mione! Where are you going?"

Hermione froze halfway through the portrait door, one leg in and one leg out. Her fingers clutched tight on her book bag's strap and her breath stuck in her throat as she turned a tight smile at Ron, "Oh, I'm going to go study. The common room's too noisy tonight to get anything productive done."

Ron rolled his eyes with a small grin and Hermione felt her lungs expand with air she hadn't realized she was missing. He turned toward a group of fourth years playing Exploding Snap and gave her an absent wave, "Alright then, see you. "

Hermione couldn't believe it really was this easy. Never before had she been thankful for her friend's pointed avoidance of anything academic. Just the mention of the word "study" and any interest in her and her whereabouts vanished without a trace. Why hadn't she thought of this years ago?

Professor Dumbledore really was a genius.

She had been astounded when her story had had such an immediate effect yesterday morning. The boys' curiosity had been insatiable when she had returned to the common room after her meeting with the headmaster. They had fired questions and theories and speculations at her, one after another, until she cut in with her mundane excuse. Much to her surprise, their interest evaporated in an instant, not bothering to press her any further. However, it did not escape her notice that Harry seemed a little resentful that she had managed to procure some of Professor Dumbledore's time when he would barely glance at The-Boy-Who-Lived. With any luck, the subject of her tri-weekly disappearances were put to rest and would not be brought up again any time soon.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she exited the Gryffindor common room and snuck down to the fifth floor hallway, careful to avoid the corridor to the prefects' bathrooms. A whispered Alohomora unlocked the door to the vacant classroom, squeaking open on protesting hinges. The sight of scrubbed desks and spotless, moonlit windows greeted her, but the scent of heavy dust still lingered in the air. How long had it been since this room had last been used? Hermione locked the door behind her and approached the back of the classroom. On the far wall hung a faded blue tapestry, the remnants of interlacing silver and gold vines glinting in the dim light.

Hermione touched her wand to the worn fabric, her whispered voice echoing in the silent classroom, "Wormwood."

Magic shimmered over the fabric's surface, but no door or passage appeared. Unsure of what to do, she pressed a tentative hand to the material only to have it pass through, cool air meeting her fingertips on the other side. With a held breath, she stepped through and entered complete darkness.

A quick Lumos revealed a steep corkscrew staircase at her feet and a solid wall of stone at her back. Just like the stairs in the headmaster's tower, they began their downward descent as soon as her feet touched the first step. That was a relief, scuttling up and down this passageway three times a week would be unpleasant, to say the least.

A narrow wooden doorway appeared out of the gloom as she neared the bottom of the spiral, no knob or handle in sight. Setting her bag against the wall, she aimed her wand at its rough surface and muttered the password. Magic sparked along the door's edges and the wood slid sideways into the wall. She stepped over the threshold and found herself beside the Potion Master's desk, behind her the narrow bookshelf thumped back into place.

"You're late," the professor stood and plunked his quill into its inkwell, "Five points from Gryffindor. Make sure it doesn't happen again."

Well, that was a pleasant start for the evening. A glance at the mantel clock revealed that it wasn't even a full minute past seven. She bit her cheek as she replied with as much politeness as she could muster, "Yes, sir."

As she went to take her place at the front of the desk, it struck her that Professor Snape may not have been as amenable to her plan as the headmaster had made him out to be. Once again, the space in front of the Potion Master's desk was pointedly void of any chairs. Ignoring his passive insult, she kept her head high and hands folded behind her back while she awaited his lecture and instructions.

"If I remember the events of Thursday night with accuracy," he said as he rounded his desk and approached her, "You mentioned that you had already done 'a bit of reading' on the subject of Occlumency. Is this correct?"

"Yes sir, it is."

A nasty smile twisted his lips, "Good. Let's see how much you've learned. Legilimens!"

Hermione's stomach dropped through the floor and snippets of the past consumed her mind.

An acrid smell invaded her nostrils and throat, causing her to cough and her eyes to tear. The professor's office dissolved into his classroom, where he stood at his desk demonstrating the proper way to chop bitterroot for a healing balm, the students in the front row covering their noses with their jumpers. The world shifted and Hermione found herself standing with her mother, anxiously watching a pharmacist through a glass window as he compounded a prescription. Her mother laced their fingers together and squeezed tight.

No! This was going too fast!

Again the scene fell away, and she heard her grandfather humming as he mixed ingredients in a saucepan, the air aromatic with savoury smells and spices. She felt her small hand reach forward of its own volition to sneak a morsel of chopped beef.

Stop!

She tried to freeze the scene around her, but to no avail. Her grandparents' kitchen phased into dinnertime in the Great Hall, with Ron and Harry sitting on either side of her while Fred and George sat across the way, charming disillusioned lumps of mashed potatoes to fling themselves toward the Slytherin table.

Her mind ignored all attempts to will the world to a halt and darkness surrounded her as a chorus of crickets sang in her ears. Lantern light illuminated Hagrid's face and massive tree trunks that stretched skyward. A white-faced Neville stood trembling beside her on her first detention in the Forbidden Forest.

She felt, rather than heard, Professor Snape let out a dissatisfied ,"Hmph."

His office spun back into view, and it took a moment before Hermione realized everything was much taller than it should have been. It was also sideways. Her left side ached and she wondered when she had fallen.

"Get up," he commanded even as she was pushing herself off the floor, his voice hemmed with irritation, "That was an even worse first attempt than Potter's. Tell me, Miss Granger, what is the first, most basic premise behind Occlumency?"

"Clearing your mind of all thoughts and emotions," she answered automatically as she righted herself.

"Which you failed to do in a most spectacular fashion," he sneered, "Just how much did you actually read about Occlumency? From that performance it looks like you barely skimmed a paragraph on the subject."

Hermione bit her tongue.

Then, with a small, malicious smile, Professor Snape stepped closer, "And ten points from Gryffindor, courtesy of the Weasely twins."

"But sir, that was two years ago!" she protested and clamped a hand over her mouth, cursing herself for rising to his barbs. She needed him to teach her and did not want a repeat of Thursday night, "Sorry, sir."

His eyes narrowed and she knew she was going to regret her lack of self control, "Legilimens."

The warm scents of smoke and gingerbread tickled at her nose as her family sang Christmas carols around her grandmother's piano. The scene shifted in the next instant, giving her no time to try and subvert the cascading flow of her mind. She heard the tinkling strains of a piano concerto fill the music room of her primary school, tiny students following the teacher as she marched about the room like a soldier. The memory faded as fast as it came, leaving her reeling, and the day she received her Hogwarts letter flashed before her eyes. Confusion and excitement and affirmation coursed through her veins and her hands trembled as she held the heavy parchment, knowing that nothing would ever be the same. Her fists continued shaking and she felt her nails dig into her palms. Hurt, anger, and shame replaced the elation she had just experienced as Draco Malfoy spat out the word "Mudblood" like he had just eaten something rotten.

"Enough," Professor Snape's voice reverberated through her mind.

Hermione opened her eyes and again found herself lying on the cold stone floor, head spinning and frustration growing. She felt a pressure building at the base of her skull and a radiating twinge between her eyes.

Professor Snape crossed his arms, "Congratulations, Miss Granger, that was an even poorer show than the last time."

Hermione pressed her lips together and refused to let him get the better of her again. She pushed herself to her feet with a growl under her breath, but her anger quickly gave way to curiosity as she noticed something peculiar: Professor Snape had gone pale. His usual scowl was in place and his eyes glowered with the expected level of irritation, but she could not help but notice that he looked a couple shades whiter than usual...Perhaps it was just a trick of the dim lighting.

"Again, Miss Granger. At least attempt to put up a resistance this time," he raised his wand once more, "Legilimens!"

A vision of winter closed over her eyes, snowy trees bowing to the ground from their icy weight. Panic and cold shook through her tiny body as she realized that she had lost sight of her parents and did not recognize this part of the park. The cold intensified and she felt as though all of the joy had been stolen from her soul. Frost crackled over the windows of the Hogwarts Express, a monstrous creature shrouded in death and smelling of graveyards drifted into their compartment. She ran. Her panic spiked tenfold with the adrenaline pumping through her system, sweat dripping down her face. A wild snarl behind her warned of how close the transformed Professor Lupin was to mauling both her and Harry to an early demise. Harry turned to her and his verdant eyes sunk into a harrowed look. "He's back," he whispered, "Voldemort's back."

"Are you even trying, Miss Granger?" this time the potions master's voice split through her skull, his irate tone impossible to miss.

With a groan, Hermione pushed herself onto her knees, "Yes sir, I am. It's just that it's much more...overwhelming than I imagined."

"Try harder, Miss Granger. Figure it out. After all, aren't you supposed to be 'the brightest witch of her age'?" he taunted, "Potter will be fodder for the Dark Lord if you never manage to clear your mind."

Hermione set her jaw and hauled herself to her feet at his words. He was right, failing Harry was not an option. She locked her eyes onto his, "Yes, sir, I will try harder."

He paused and considered her for a moment, "See that you do...Legilimens!"

* * *

Why had she insisted on lessons that lasted an hour and a half? A searing pain ricocheted through her head and her entire body ached to the bones. Her stockings were ripped and her knees scraped from falling to the stone floor so many times that she had lost count. Professor Snape had been merciless.

Harry had endured this for two months? No wonder Voldemort was able to invade his dreams so often, either you learned to block outside intrusion or it shredded your mental defenses to bits.

Hermione wasn't sure which hurt worse, her building headache or her bruised pride. Despite all her promises to Dumbledore and determination to help Harry, she never managed to repel a single attack from Professor Snape. In fact, each new attempt seemed to produce worse results. How were you supposed to clear your mind when you were tumbling pell-mell through bursts of memory? It was a complete sensory overload.

A low groan escaped her as she stepped through the portrait door, pain rippling down her shins. Thank goodness she had completed all of her homework before her lesson, the only thing she could think of with any clarity was her overwhelming need for sleep.

"Merlin, Hermione. What happened to you?" Holding a transfiguration book in one hand and his restless toad in the other, Neville took in her battered state with increasing concern, "You might want to visit Madame Pomfrey."

Did she look that bad? She gave a weak smile and a quick scan to the room for Harry and Ron, thankful that neither were anywhere in sight, "I'm fine, Neville. I just...took a fall down a couple of stairs, no need to go to the infirmary for that."

Neville shifted his weight from foot to foot, "If you're sure…At least put some Murtlap Essence on those knees, alright?"

This time her smile was genuine, "Thanks, Neville, I will. Goodnight."

"Oh, wait. Ron and Harry were looking for you earlier," he fumbled a bit as his toad made an unsuccessful bid at freedom, "Do you want me to go get them for you?"

"No!" she exclaimed, then cleared her throat and continued in a calmer voice, "Thank you, but I'll talk to them in the morning. I'm rather tired tonight."

"Alright then. 'Night, Hermione," as he turned away, Hermione heard him mutter to his rebellious familiar, "Now stop that, Trevor. I just found you!"

The quiet and darkness of her room was a welcome relief, doing much to aid her pounding headache. It was a good thing that Parvati and Lavender had chosen to spend their evening elsewhere, she wouldn't be able to handle their relentless chattering right now. She collapsed onto her bed, completely forgetting her promise to Neville and the fact that she was still wearing her school robes.

Sleep claimed her within minutes.

* * *

"Good evening, Severus. How did Miss Granger fair tonight?"

Snape accepted the proffered cup of tea without any of his usual complaints and perhaps a small nod of gratitude. Ginger, lemon, and chamomile flowed over his tongue while the bitterness of skullcap mingled in the familiar aftertaste, the brew's warmth loosening the sharp tension in his head with the first swallow. A talented Legilimens he may be, but a constant hour and a half of plunging through an untrained mind did have its undesirable effects.

He took time reviewing the evening's events as he drained his cup. Much to his dismay, he found himself exponentially less irritated with Granger's first lesson than he had after any of Potter's, which in itself was its own source of annoyance. A sizable ember of resentment still burned in the back of his mind concerning the headmaster's complete disregard of his opinion in the matter, but even he had to admit that this was a much preferable option than returning to their earlier plan. It would only be under pain of death that he would admit it, but it was true. As for the girl's lesson itself...

"It was a mixed result," he said after placing the china back on its saucer.

"How's that?" Albus refilled the teacup but kept his eyes trained on the potions master.

Severus took another swig, relishing his next words, "It seems that your precious prized pupil has no innate knack for Occlumency. She never managed to repel my intrusion even once, despite the dozens of opportunities presented to her. Potter at least managed to block me with a stinging hex on his first try, though all of his following attempts were as horrid as hers. The girl couldn't even slow my progress through her memories. In fact, her attempts waned in vigor throughout the lesson, she obviously has no stamina for the subject. On that front, it was a dismal first lesson, an absolute failure."

"Oh," Dumbledore sank back in his chair, much to the potion master's satisfaction, "That's very disappointing."

"Is it now?" a smug smile crept over Snape's features, "Perhaps if you had listened to me and my concerns during our prior meeting..."

"Perhaps, perhaps," Albus sighed, "What else do you have to report?"

Severus wasn't going to let the old goat sidestep the issue that easily, "Wait a moment, headmaster. I think now would be a perfect opportunity to review our last communications and the veracity of my insight on the subject."

"I think that it's a tad premature for that discussion. After all, it's only her first lesson. What is the rest of your report?"

The potions master tapped the armrest with nonchalance, "It seems to have slipped my mind at the moment, though I'm sure you could jog my memory easily enough."

Albus bestowed a rare scowl upon him, "Your level of pettiness never ceases to amaze me."

Severus leant back into his chair and merely raised his brows in expectant response.

"Fine," the headmaster sighed, "You raised some pertinent points worth merit during our last discussion, to which I should have given greater thought and will give more consideration to in the future. Now, are you quite done with your gloating?"

Another long sip of tea and satisfied smile, "Yes...For now."

"And your report?"

Snape took another sip, "You overestimated her capabilities, no doubt about that. However, you were correct about her level of resolve, she made herself get back up after every attack. The closest that she came to an excuse or complaint was that it was 'more overwhelming' than she had thought it would be. All I had to do was mention Potter once and the girl shut up for the rest of the lesson."

Albus looked very pleased at this pronouncement, "Oh?"

Snape nodded his confirmation.

"And just how hard did you push her tonight?" he asked, curiosity and a hint of suspicion lighting his eyes.

Severus smirked, "No more than you pushed me during my first lesson."

"The poor girl, that does explain a few things," Dumbledore chuckled, "Though I will say that you, unlike her, deserved it at the time. Harry is very lucky to have her as a friend."

Snape refused to comment on that assertion, "There is something else I noticed while delving into Miss Granger's subconscious. The girl's thoughts have a natural, organized structure to them. One train of thought always leads to another, related by a common theme."

"Is that so?" the Headmaster eyed him with interest.

"Indeed. For example, a memory of her family singing Christmas carols led to a music lesson at her primary school, which in turn became the memory of receiving her Hogwarts letter..." The image of Draco Malfoy's twisted face floated to the fore of his mind and the feeling of decades-old guilt coiled in his stomach. Of course, out of all the things he saw inside the girl's head tonight, that scene refused to leave him be. He pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind, there would be time enough for compulsive self-loathing and retrospection later.

"In another instance," he continued, "A childhood visit to the zoo turned into a moment spent watching the giant squid in the lake, which then became the experience of trying Japanese cuisine for the first time with her parents. There is always a connection between her memories."

Dumbledore drummed his fingers against his armrest and smiled, "This holds promise."

"Our situation might not be quite as hopeless as I predicted," Severus raised a finger, "Might."

"You're as stubborn as ever," Albus scolded with twinkling eyes, "Practical application of magic has been an occasional weakness of hers in the past. You should have Rolanda relay the story of Miss Granger's first flying lesson, it gets more atrocious with every retelling. How do you plan to approach the rest of her training?"

Severus replaced his cup on its saucer and pushed it away from the edge of the table, the tea already taking its soothing effect, "With what she understands best, of course: books."

* * *

"...Perhaps one of the greatest influences that the resolution of the Spice Squabble of 1540 had, aside from bridging the animosity and distrust between European and Far-Eastern Wizarding communities, was in the area of Potioneering. With more competitive access to exotic materials throughout Europe, the prices of ingredients…"

The scratching of quills over parchment accompanied Professor Binns' droning lecture over Renaissance Wizarding history. If this were a normal morning, Hermione would be jotting down notes with zeal over the chance to learn new information and prepare for her upcoming OWLs. This morning, however, the best she could do was scribble the larger points of the ghostly Professor's lesson with absent interest. Hermione was distracted by other, more important thoughts.

She had gone to the library early that morning to find as many books devoted to Occlumency as she could, but had immediately run into a problem: there weren't any. Both Legilimency and Occlumency had been referenced in a few volumes on obscure magical practices, and even on Veritaserum, but very few went into much detail on the subject and none of them contained any instructional material beyond basic knowledge such as "one must clear their mind of all thoughts, emotions, and memories". Needless to say, they were less than helpful.

What she had learned, however, was that the unauthorized use of both Legilimency and Occlumency were illegal in many wizarding governments, including the Ministry of Magic. Just like Veritaserum, the practices were restricted as they were considered either an invasion of privacy or a dangerous means to escape interrogation. The only people allowed access to instruction were high ranking government officials, specific Investigators within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Unspeakables, and an odd few healers that dealt with 'traumatic fatigue'.

Being the former Supreme Mugwump and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Dumbledore no doubt had legal means to practice both arts. It was likely that Professor Snape, the former Death Eater and wizard of dubious morality, did not. He probably didn't have a license to brew Veritaserum, for that matter.

Upon realizing all of this, Hermione had done the only reasonable thing she could: she panicked. What if she were found out? What if they were all found out? Umbridge was the High Inquisitor, was she allowed to use Veritaserum on students? On teachers? And Dumbledore! He had arranged that Harry be taught an illicit magical practice by a wizard who was, again, unauthorized and of uncertain moral fibre. As if Harry wasn't in enough trouble with the ministry as it was! Oh Merlin, what was she going to do?

Despite the whirlwind of distress in her mind, Professor Snape's words from last night had echoed through her thoughts and forced her into a grim state of calm. If she didn't learn Occlumency, Harry would be an information leak to the Order and open to any manipulations of Voldemort. There was no choice, she had to do this if she wanted to secure her friend's safety.

Soon after she had finished wrestling with her convictions, the warning bell for the first class of the day had rung throughout the castle and cut short her visit to the library. Empty handed, she had hurried to History of Magic, barely managing to snag a seat beside two Ravenclaws before the start of class.

That left her with the current conundrum she was pondering during Professor Binns' lecture. How do you clear your mind when your senses, both emotional and physical, were overwhelmed all at once? Perhaps she could try to block them out one at a time, starting with taste and working her way up to sight and emotions? That might work, but it was time consuming, Professor Snape would have no patience with that methodology. No...She needed a more immediate solution.

"...The shipments of more exotic woods also affected the art of Wandmaking and Wandlore. In fact, the Ollivander family is known for…"

Seeing as he had mastered Legilimency to great effect, perhaps Professor Snape would be willing to slow the excavation of her mind to give her more time to...She nearly snorted aloud at that thought. Of course he wouldn't. She could only imagine the barrage of insults he would volley her way should she ever suggest that. Her head must still be muddled after yesterday's lesson.

"...Speaking of wands, there were immense strides in the subjects of wandless and silent magic with the introduction of meditative practices…"

Her quill stopped, ink dripping onto her parchment as the jammed gears in her head whirred back to life. Meditation. A small whiff of an idea tickled the back of her consciousness, evolving slowly into full-fledged thought and theory. She had always disregarded the spiritual practice as nothing more than load of meaningless hogswallop, but there just might be something of value hidden behind the front of transcendental nonsense. Its entire premise was the clearing of one's mind, wasn't it? At least, that's what she had gathered from sixteen years worth of Aunt Rolanda's new-age diatribes when she imbibed too much Christmas cheer over the holidays. It may not be quite what Professor Snape had meant, and goodness knows she had a healthy level of scepticism about the whole business, but if it helped her she would be more than willing to swallow her pride and criticism. Besides, it must have some amount of historical credence and effectiveness if even Professor Binns thought to mention it in one of his history lessons. It was at least worth investigating.

With that possibility to explore, her note-taking resumed with fervor.

* * *

Hermione rushed out of History of Magic as soon as the bell rang, partly to check out as many books pertaining to meditation and Occlumency as she could find and partly to dodge Ron and Harry.

In addition to nearly being tardy to her first class, her trip to the library had also made her miss breakfast that morning. Despite her growling stomach, she was glad that it gave her more time to avoid her friends' probable questions about her exact whereabouts last night. Lying to Neville when she was too tired to care or function was one thing, lying to her best friends while fully awake and conscious was quite another.

The library looked deserted, aside from the presence of Madame Pince. Most students took advantage of their mid-morning break by catching a nap in between classes, which meant this was a perfect opportunity to surreptitiously check out a few books. A glance at the clock told her she had thirty minutes before Potions began, just enough time to grab what she needed if she were efficient.

She began drawing up a mental list of the most helpful texts she had found that morning. Making a return trip to the section dealing with fringe practices of magic would be necessary, and a couple of texts on the subject of Veritaserum had looked promising. The History section had at least one book detailing the legal process of outlawing Occlumency and Legilimency, it was a dry read but it might be possible to glean some insight from those records. From what she could find that morning, the aisle regarding wandless and nonverbal magic could be useful with focus and concentration.

Hermione scurried from row to row, scouring the shelves for any books she had noted earlier and reevaluating their usefulness based on their size and table of contents. By the time she reached Madam Pince's desk, she had managed to gather the only book on Eastern magical, mystical, and spiritual practices, two books on the history and effectiveness of truth serums and their countermeasures, _Magister Mentium_ and another volume from the same section, a book that contained the court record of the hearing that outlawed Occlumency and Legilimency, and a beginner's guide to non-verbal and wandless magic.

She smiled in satisfaction, surely she'd find some way to make all this work.

* * *

Students filtered out of the the Potions classroom, speculations about what the elves had prepared for lunch peppering the general conversation. There were no observations of Professor Snape having been in a worse mood than usual or whispers of his quick temper, which Hermione took to be a good sign. Perhaps her lesson last night hadn't gone as poorly as she had thought.

Hand over empty stomach and thoughts occupied by lunch, she was halfway to the Dungeon stairwell when she felt something latch onto both her arms and yank her in the opposite direction. Her undignified squeak rang down the hallway and turned more than a fair share of heads.

"And just where do you think you're going?" Harry whispered as he and Ron frogmarched her down the hallway, "Care to tell us where you were last night?"

"Or why you've been avoiding us?" Ron chimed in.

Hermione swallowed a lump that had lodged itself in her throat. She had hoped if they were to confront her that they would do so in the Great Hall where the noise and bustle of lunchtime might distract them. It was going to be much harder to escape interrogation in the empty corridor.

She drew herself up to her full height, feeling smaller than ever,"I haven't the foggiest idea of what you're talking about. I was exactly where I said I would be: studying." She pulled her arms free of their grasps, "And I'm not avoiding you, I've just been busy, I wanted to research something this morning and lost track of time. Can we please go to lunch now?"

Ron grabbed the sleeve of her robe again as she began to turn away, preventing her retreat, "Not so fast, that doesn't explain why you weren't on the map!"

She tried to plead ignorance even as she felt the colour flooding to her cheeks, hopeful that the dungeon corridor was too dimly lit for either of them to notice, "W-what do you mean 'weren't on the map'?"

"We needed help on Sinistra's planetary alignment essay, and the map said you were somewhere on the second floor," Harry's explained, "When we went to find you, you weren't there."

Hermione bit the inside of her lip, "Well, I haven't a clue why that would be, maybe the spells on it are wearing thin? After all, wasn't the map made twenty years ago by four teenagers? It might not be as foolproof as we thought."

Harry looked dissatisfied with that answer, "It's never failed befo-"

They all jumped as a loud bang echoed down the corridor and the door to the potions classroom rebounded off the wall.

"Potter! Weasley! Granger! Five points each for loitering in my hallway and disturbing my meal!" Professor Snape barked, arms crossed and looking none too pleased, "You may be too dense to understand the material of my lectures, but surely you can comprehend the idea of sustenance. Stop your chattering and leave before I deduct more points from your sorry House!"

Hermione immediately seized the opportunity in front of her. She grabbed the backs of the boys' robes before they could react and hauled them towards the direction of the stairwell, hissing a warning in their ears, "Keep quiet, the both of you."

She looked behind her at Professor Snape, "Our apologies, sir. We'll leave right now, I hope you enjoy your lunch." It was difficult to ignore the urge to avoid all eye contact. After last night, she found it hard to even look at his face without feeling like he was about to rifle through her memories.

The three quickly advanced down the hallway, Hermione keeping a firm hand on both of the boy's backs in case either of them got the idea to challenge Professor Snape's point taking and provoke him further.

Unfortunately, Ron lacked her sense of prudence.

As they neared the dungeon stairs, Hermione felt his back tense up under her fingertips as he bristled, "Hallways don't belong to teachers, I can talk wherever I want. Ruddy berk thinks he owns-"

"Ten more points for insulting a professor, Weasley!" Hermione winced as Professor Snape's voice reverberated off the walls of the corridor.

Ron reared his head around, "Merlin's balls, how did he even hear-"

"Ten more for crude language!"

"Ron, will you shut it!" Harry whispered as he yanked his friend up the stairs by his shirt collar, sending a wary glower to the professor behind them.

Curiosity gaining the better of her, as it so often did, Hermione also risked a quick glance behind her before she followed Harry and Ron into the stairwell, expecting to see the man glaring daggers in their direction. Instead, she caught sight of Professor Snape leaning against the doorframe of his classroom, smirking to himself in much the same way that always made her want to slap Draco Malfoy.

The gloating grin vanished in an instant, his smug expression melting into an instant scowl so quick that she almost questioned whether or not she had seen it in the first place. She gave a small, sheepish smile in apology before running after her friends.

* * *

A group of first year Hufflepuffs scrambled out of his path like frightened jarvies as Snape swept down the fourth floor hallway. God, the first years were always so entertaining. By second year, they had all learned to simply keep out of his way while averting their eyes, but the first years...It was like watching a mess of human marbles colliding and smashing into one another. Unfortunately, he couldn't enjoy the rather diverting sight tonight, he had much more pressing concerns that required his attention. Several, in fact, but atop that extensive list of problems perched Miss Granger.

Her performance earlier had been one of the worst displays of subterfuge he had ever witnessed. Wide eyes, furrowed brow, pinched mouth, folded hands, a face as red as Weasley's hair, the list of errors was endless. She was a terrible liar, if he hadn't stepped in when he did who knows what information those two could have gleaned from her flimsy answers. The sooner he got those books to that girl, the better.

Strictly speaking, his current trip to the library wasn't necessary, he owned many books, most of them bequeathed by Dumbledore, that related to Miss Granger's studies and went into far greater detail than anything he could find here. However, those publications had long since been shelved at Spinner's End, and he didn't want to return to that godforsaken place any earlier than necessary. Besides, it would be cataclysmic if that interfering toad caught either of them with those books. The selection at the school library was much more...legal in nature.

Severus wound his way deep into the library stacks until he found the section dealing with the most esoteric of practices. Some of these authors were so eccentric, or perhaps pretentious, that they still spelled the word 'magic' as 'majyk'. He knew from the headmaster that the Granger girl had already read _Magister Mentium_, a tolerable beginning to her studies, but as he scanned the shelves he could not find the other book he sought. It had been old and ratty when he had first been employed at Hogwarts, perhaps it had been tossed out to make room for new material.

Frowning, he set out for the area designated for non-verbal and wandless magic. No doubt that Miss Granger would be enthused to read about the most advanced areas of magic offered at Hogwarts, being the knowledge-guzzling nuisance that she was. As usual, the selection was sparse. Sixth and seventh years plundered this section year after year, hoping to impress their friends and family members with their newly-learnt skills and gain the best marks possible in their NEWTs. The absence of _The Beginner's Handbook to Silent Spellcasting_ came as no surprise, but it was grating nonetheless.

The row pertaining to history was the next closest to his current section, with any luck there would be a text that detailed the formation of Occlumency and Legilimency or perhaps the hearings that outlawed their usage. He flipped through several volumes with increasing irritation as he found none of any helpful substance. Muttering inaudible curses, he set out for the potions aisle.

Snape skimmed his fingers over dozens of dusty spines, searching for two particular tomes on Veritaserum. They both detailed the various techniques employed to avoid succumbing to the potion without skirting into illegal territory, not to mention they were both fascinating reads. Rather, he found them fascinating, interrogation techniques were probably not Miss Granger's cup of tea. Then again, that would be all the more reason to make them required reading in this little crash course. His impatience grew with every new title he touched, his search yielding no results as neither print nor page of either tome could be found. In fact, there was a conspicuous gap exactly where they should have been shelved. _Bleeding hell!_

Snape strode to the library's paltry fine arts collection, glaring at any student that dared cross his path. Grabbing the thickest volume on acting that he could find, he cast a concealment charm and shoved it under his robes.

He stalked past the librarian's desk, ignoring Madam Pince and her suspicious gaze. That harpy could take her precious check-out procedures and shove them in a whole myriad of places. Any stores he had for dealing with meaningless aggravation were well and truly exhausted.

Of course, there could only be one cause for his fruitless venture. One interfering, overeager, vexing reason that wasted his time when he had no time to waste and a slew of other responsibilities that he could have tended to over the last forty-five minutes.

"Granger," he growled under his breath.

What an annoying little swot.


End file.
